To His Hell and Back-Chapter 395: Close To Salvation-II

Upon hearing the word payment, almost all of them froze in place at once. Their expression wary while they look back at Miranda, the only one who was smiling in this room. With the vines behind her curl toward her seat it was as though one wrong move and the whole castle would have eaten them alive.

Witches are fickle, they are dangerous as omnipotent they are... Renard was told that by Lastor ever since they set off to find Miranda but deep down he still question whether truly they should be afraid of only a single woman.

Yet now standing before Miranda, something inside Renard shook, a sense of warning filling him to the point that his nerves had froze in place, his blood cell screaming for him to run away, far from the woman in front of him whose shadow seemed to have morphed into one of a monster, one that he had felt before when facing Cassius.

Miranda hadn’t done anything but why is it that his body was screaming for an escape?

Something was odd... Miranda was odd.

She smells like blood... smells like ruin, like destruction, like doom.

And this wasn’t the smell of her blood was it? Since she isn’t bleeding that would mean this simply the scent of her true nature. A true nature now masked with her lovely face and her demure voice. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Knowing that Miranda wouldn’t help for nothing, Lastor had stepped out first, offering himself to the witch, "If it is anything that you need from my body, you may take them."

Miranda’s lips curved, amused. "So, you know of my hobby."

"Most witches collect rare items," Lastor said carefully, words made sure to not offend the witch before him, "artifacts, parts. They say such things fuel their magic. That is why I am prepared to offer mine, if they might suffice."

"Suffice," Miranda echoed, leaning back with languid grace. "Your organs are healthy despite your sickly appearance, I’ll grant you that. But nothing about them is rare. I don’t waste my shelves with mediocrity. Something mediocre would not move my heart to help either."

Lastor’s brow furrowed. His worst fear, that even mutilating himself would not be enough to secure her favor, tightened in his chest. He opened his mouth, desperate to negotiate further, but Miranda’s hands clapped together, light and sharp, seizing the room’s attention.

"I like rare things," she said sweetly. "Things I cannot already pluck from the world. Your green eyes, your form, your kind... I’ve collected them all before."

Her gaze slid, deliberate and slow, and finally stopping at Renard.

"But I have said I don’t have a dog, haven’t I?" Her smile deepened, almost fond. "And you — loyal enough to rot by your master’s grave, wasting your life away. You interest me."

The vines behind her quivered, as if eager for his answer.

"So tell me, little hound..." her voice lowered to a velvet threat. "Will you pay for your master?"

Lastor startled and stepped back, exchanging a glance of pure shock with Renard. Neither of them had expected the witch to make such an offer, to demand Renard as payment instead of him.

"My apologies," Lastor said quickly, voice tight, "but he isn’t part of this exchange. I was the one who asked for your help, so I should be the one to pay." The thought of returning to the castle without Renard sent ice through his chest. He would not face wrath and sorrow for losing him.

Miranda frowned, tilting her head. "But you have nothing to offer, Lastor. Nothing at all." Her gaze flicked over him once more, slow and dismissive. "Unless," she murmured, a smile curling, "you think this is unfair. In which case... I could give you something more in exchange, little hound."

Renard’s eyes narrowed. Skepticism prickled through him, not just at her words, but at her sudden precision. She had never once called him by name, never acknowledged him as a man.

Had her eyes been fixed on him from the moment they entered this room? No, longer. From the instant he had set foot in the forest, perhaps. Had this all been a snare for him, woven long before Lastor even spoke?

If that was the truth, then it was hopeless. No matter what he said, no matter how he begged, nothing would sway her. The witch had already made up her mind. She knew what she wanted. And it was him.

Lastor was wrecking his head for a solution when Renard spoke up, "Since I am paying for another’s mercy, as a mean to make it fair, you are going to give me another chance to ask you a request?"

"Yes," Miranda nodded.

"Don’t do it," Lastor said, "You can’t step out of the forest anymore if you do!" He warned but Renard’s blue hair faced him as he turned around, his eyes straight to the witch’s green eyes and silver hair.

"I don’t usually give such exception you know? Then again, it’s not so often that I took in a whole person under my wings and I should be merciful considering you didn’t make any wish and my policy is to give one wish to anyone who steps inside this forest."

"But will you ask me for further payment?" Renard asked with narrowed eyes.

"No, I won’t," Miranda answered smiling in satisfaction as she could see the light on Renard’s eyes and how it had darkened with determination.

"Then I will stay," Renard said firmly. He turned to Lastor, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "What matters is that we fulfill our role here. You were ready to give up your life—so am I. I am a soldier before I am your aide, and I have already made up my mind to give this life away if necessary."

"You’re— no, I’m the one who should pay for this—" Lastor tried to argue, but his words fell on deaf ears. Miranda’s attention had already slipped past him, her eyes fixed on Renard with a predator’s focus.

She glided closer, raising a finger to trace the line of his chest as if marking him hers. "Then should we begin," she whispered, "by stripping away those clothes? Craven will bring you a new one."

Her head tilted suddenly, as if remembering a small detail, and she turned lazily toward Lastor. "Since the payment and the promise have been sealed, it is time for you to go home. Tell your new little witch I will come to her castle when the full moon rises."

"What—" The protest barely left Lastor’s lips before the world tore away.

He blinked—and found himself standing at the gates of Versailles. Alone. The cold air bit his cheeks, and fresh snow still clung to his cloak, the only proof he hadn’t dreamed it.

Renard was gone.